


Beta Testing

by blueskypenguin



Series: coexist [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskypenguin/pseuds/blueskypenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He inevitably has to report back to his Quartermaster and officially file the loss of equipment; once Silva is delivered to his cell, his home until he can be remanded to Belmarsh, James leaves the isolation room and heads for Q branch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beta Testing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Бета-тестирование](https://archiveofourown.org/works/916276) by [arisu_aiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisu_aiko/pseuds/arisu_aiko)



> Set between Silva's capture, and M entering Isolation with Tanner. Bond is already there at that point, and is re-armed.

He inevitably has to report back to his Quartermaster and officially file the loss of equipment; once Silva is delivered to his cell, his home until he can be remanded to Belmarsh, James leaves the isolation room and heads for Q branch.

James had always taken a small amount of pride in the exasperation the Q branch directs his way for his treatment of their toys, but as he rounds the corner towards Q’s section of their bunker location, he remembers one of the new Q’s predecessors and finds he’s a little nostalgic for some good natured chiding; James doubts he’ll ever get a “ _grow up, double-oh seven_ ” from this Q.

It would be the height of irony if that were to be the case.

So: his new Quartermaster.

He hadn’t taken too long to really consider the younger man when they’d met, had written him off at first as a twenty-something civilian keen to engage strangers in conversation about the works in the National Gallery. Even worse, when it became clear that this man was no civilian but his new Q, he’d written the man off for a moment, just a split second, as a young hot-shot with brains but no real understanding of how it all worked out there in the shadows of the real world.

However, Q had surprised him in that first meeting, their only so far, with a strong wit and a stronger will; James had seen a man older than his looks would suggest, a man who refused to take any bullshit from even a seasoned double-oh, and a man who’d clearly done his research to provide James with his preferred make of weapon.

Now, he had to tell that man he’d lost the customised Walther in a brawl, and to a komodo dragon of all things, and after Q had specifically requested that the equipment be brought back in one piece.

James is self-aware enough to admit he’d entertained that innuendo for a split second as they parted ways. It hadn’t done to dwell, of course. _What makes you think this is my first time?_ Indeed. He’d never been one to shit in his own back garden, so to speak, where workplace relations were concerned; this would be - could be - no different, and it wasn’t as if he was unused to denying himself certain interests.

Though it’s difficult, James admits to himself as he strides through the glass doors into the bullpen of the bunker Q branch have situated themselves in, when Q is so very... intriguing.

Take now, for instance, his brain supplies. The man is standing at his desk at the top centre of the room, watching over his team and simultaneously tapping away at his computer with his left hand hand, sipping what is no doubt Earl Grey from that Scrabble mug in his right. His woolen cardigan over a shirt and tie - not designer, but not without quality - is professional and yet the bright mustard colour of the vest and the skinny tie give a youthfulness to the ensemble. James tries to imagine Q in jeans and a t-shirt, perhaps during time off; and first thing in the morning, in those damned pyjamas.

“Double-oh seven,” the man in question greets, looking over the top of this thick-rimmed spectacles at James. “Here to return your radio transmitter, I assume?”

“As a matter of fact,” James replies, and realises Q already knows about the gun.

Q nods, his expression one of disinterest. “If you pass it off to Jamie,” an intern appears at James’s left side, “he’ll deal with it. Any issues we ought to be aware of in the execution?”

“It performed perfectly,” he slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out the transmitter barely the size of a stamp. The intern takes it from his fingers without a word and disappears into the throng of other inconsequential faces milling around the bunker.

“Glad to hear it. What of your Walther?” Q offered the statement without judgement, and so James decided to continue with his assessment of the goodies he was offered.

“Until it was lost to a dragon, it carried out its duties admirably. Those biometric sensors came in ...handy,” admits James with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Q seems unmoved, “Try harder with your puns next time, double-oh seven. We’ll issue you another, do try to keep this one.” he points at one of the agents at a nearby desk. “Agent Porter, could you retrieve a blank-coded Walther PPKS nine millimetre short from the armoury for double-oh seven and bring it to me, please.”

“Yes, sir,” James watches the agent, a thirty-something veteran of Q branch he’s seen around the old building, click away his screen to the generic MI6 screensaver and walk away purposefully. MI6 is built on a chain-of-command structure, so the instant response to do what is essentially a boring errand isn’t out of place; it is however, a mark in Q’s favour. The subordinates of Q branch have given this new leader their respect, and that’s more than enough for James.

“M has requested you be present when she speaks with Mr. Silva,” Q looks up briefly from his laptop to make eye-contact with James. “That won’t be for several hours, however.”

James slips his left hand into his pocket and offers casually, “I suppose I’ll find some way to pass the time.” He doesn’t mean it to sound as though he’s trying to chat up Q, but that’s exactly what it sounds like to James’ ear. Or perhaps he’s actually reached that point where everything he says to attractive people comes out like a chat-up line. He remembers the day Alec noticed and -

Well, it wouldn’t do to dwell on that.

“Flat-hunting, perhaps,” and James definitely catches the slight twitch at the corner of Q’s mouth, so the subtext was noted, but Q has decided to ignore it (possible) or was working towards returning the favour (unlikely).

“Not high on my list of priorities at the moment.” admits James.

Q raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of tea from his mug. The damned mug even has ‘Q’ on it. It’s terribly cheesy but strangely endearing. “Shame. I could see about the sale of your old one falling through.”

"Abusing your power already, Q?”

 ****"**** It is how I ended up on MI6’s radar in the first place, double-oh-seven,” and that is the beginnings of a quickly suppressed devilish smile.

James smiles, a genuine honest smile, because M has always had a soft-spot for waifs and strays, orphans and challenge-seekers. It turns out that Q is no different. He can barely believe how well this is all turning out; an apprehended terrorist, M’s job safe, his own body responding and working for him rather than against, and a quartermaster who can keep up with him quip for quip.

He hadn’t given much thought to his flat at all, truth be told. He’s had more important concerns, but he thinks that perhaps he should use this as a new start of sorts. He makes a decision. “Let someone else have it. It was time for a change.”

“Hmm,” Q’s eyes narrow speculatively, but he makes no further comment on the matter - Agent Porter has returned with the small black case containing his new Walther. Q takes it with a word of thanks and Porter returns to his desk. James moves around the desk to take up a position behind Q’s left shoulder, watching as Q deftly removes the gun from the carry case and presses his thumb to the butt of it.

Q talks as his hands move surely from the gun to the laptop. “All small arms respond to the thumbprints of a small select number of Q branch agents for reprogramming,” he presses his right thumb to the base of the butt, “But during the first activation, we can alter that if you wish?”

James knows the answer to this immediately, because he’s a possessive bastard. “Just you and I, please, Q. I don’t want anyone playing with my toys.”

“I think you’ll find they’re my toys, double-oh-seven, but of course - as you wish.”

The butt of the gun has slid away to reveal a small specialised USB connection, and Q has it hooked up to his laptop almost immediately. The quartermaster’s fingers fly across the keys and James sees a list of half a dozen names decrease to only one; a few more keystrokes and that list expands to two.

The connector is pulled out, and the port is covered as though it weren’t there at all. Q picks up the firearm and holds it out to James butt-first with the barrel in hand; he has no problem handling guns, James observes as he takes the Walther. With his hand wrapped around the grip, the lights turn green and Q nods in satisfaction. “Now, as futile as it may be to say, do please return the equipment in one piece next time, double-oh-seven.”

James quickly checks the clip and barrel; it’s loaded, and the chamber is empty. He opens his jacket and slides the Walther into his holster, and because his eyes return quickly to Q’s, he catches the end of a surreptitious once-over.

Well. That’s interesting.

And desperately inconvenient; hypotheticals can be so much easier to deal with.

He never had this problem with the old Q.

Q meets his eyes steadily and James recognises that they’re both perfectly aware of what is going on here, and what they’re going to do about it. With a nod, James does what he has to; he turns to leave. “I’ll do my best, Q,” James offers, and he suspects it’s not even a lie.

“I expect nothing less,” Q says, and though James has turned away already, he can hear the smile.


End file.
